Jian Li, Keeper of the Imperial Archives and Scholar of the First Rank, found solace in the precise stroke of his brush, the faint scent of aged parchment, and the unwavering rhythm of his ordered days. His name, Li, was often shortened to just Li by his most intimate few, a familiarity he found both disarming and, at times, unsettling. The Grand Tutor, revered for his wisdom, had first suggested it, remarking on the swift ease of the single syllable. Since then, among those of his generation, he was simply ‘Li’. Few still used his full given name, but that tale was for another, less troubled dawn.
His counterpart, Lord Xuan Fei, was a creature of stark opposition. Where Jian Li found grace in restraint, Xuan Fei revelled in wild abandon. His height, the untamed darkness of his hair, the indolent curve of his mouth—all were antithetical to Jian Li’s own careful demeanor. Even in the pursuit of knowledge, Xuan Fei languished, his attention flitting like a butterfly, never settling. Yet, by some twist of fate, their paths were hopelessly intertwined.
Did Jian Li, in his heart, dismiss Xuan Fei upon first encounter? He held, as was proper, a deep respect for the Celestial hierarchy, for the established order of things. By all measures, Xuan Fei’s conduct was an affront to that order. Yet, Jian Li could not, in truth, hold him in easy contempt. When their gazes first met across a crowded banquet hall, Xuan Fei’s eyes, a shade like dark river stones, held a strange, untamed force that had, against all reason, arrested Jian Li’s breath.
Lord Xuan Fei carried a peculiar aura. It was not merely the heady perfume of courtly excess or the lingering aroma of aged wine that clung to him, but something more primal, a faint, almost colourless fragrance that Jian Li could not quite place, yet found himself strangely drawn to, like a moth to a distant, dangerous flame. Unbidden, a question had slipped from Jian Li’s lips, a transgression against his own carefully cultivated silence.
Often, Jian Li sought out the superficial threads that bound them. Both were scions of influential houses, both moved in the uppermost circles of the Celestial City. Such shared circumstances provided a convenient, if fragile, justification for their increasingly entangled lives.
The capital, a sprawling dragon of stone and silk, housed districts of stark contrast. Opulence bloomed within the inner city walls, where ancestral estates preened behind towering gates. Beyond, the winding alleys and common dwellings hummed with a different, coarser life.
Jian Li’s ancestral home rested within the esteemed Scholar’s Ward, a precinct of quiet dignity and venerable lineage. His parents, though not of the imperial family, held a profound respect within the court, their influence a quiet, potent force. Born an only child, Jian Li had been nurtured in an environment of intellectual rigor and impeccable manners. He learned early to observe, to anticipate, to navigate the subtle currents of power. Not cunning, perhaps, but certainly acutely aware.
So it was that their academy, where young nobles and gifted commoners alike honed their minds, became a crucible of diverse backgrounds. Lord Xuan Fei, undeniably, belonged to the most privileged stratum. Once Jian Li had ascertained this, a strange, uneasy relief had settled within him. With that precarious justification in mind, he had found himself drawn into the nobleman’s orbit, their bond forming with an unsettling inevitability.
Just as Jian Li excelled in the meticulous dance of calligraphy and the subtle logic of philosophy, Lord Xuan Fei commanded a different kind of authority. Among the scions of the capital, his reckless charm and defiant spirit drew a certain kind of allegiance. Within a scant few months, his name was whispered with both awe and trepidation throughout the younger court circles. He became, without dispute, the most notoriously influential young lord in the Grand Imperial City.
—
The lacquered pavilion door, painted with scenes of frolicking deer, remained stubbornly closed for an age. Jian Li, his stomach a knot of tightly wound nerves, pressed a hand to his belly, the silk of his robe cool against his clammy skin. Just as his patience wore thin, a faint creak broke the stillness. A sliver of darkness appeared. Through the gap, the flush of Xuan Fei’s skin, like ripe plum, caught the lamplight. A crimson-nailed hand, releasing the latch, vanished again. Before the door could swing fully shut, Jian Li slipped inside, desperation a bitter taste on his tongue.
Inside the chamber, Xuan Fei already reclined upon a low daybed, his silk robes parted, revealing a flash of pale skin. He held a slender jade pipe, gnawing absently on its stem, unlit.
“Damn it all, my father’s censores are circling again. If a summons arrives, you’ll state we were deep in discussion of the ancestral texts.” His voice, languid and rough, carried a note of command.
He flicked open a small, ornate tinderbox, then closed it, the click a sharp sound in the quiet room. The jade pipe remained unlit, but his posture, the heavy-lidded gaze, spoke of a night spent in indolent pleasure. Jian Li’s stomach churned, a raw, acidic sensation. He rubbed it as he approached, snatching the pipe from Xuan Fei’s lips. His voice, though carefully modulated, held an edge of irritation.
“And why should I?”
“Because we are… allies,” Xuan Fei drawled, stretching the word, allowing it to hang heavy in the air. The implication was clear, painful. Jian Li felt a familiar tearing sensation in his chest, as though his own integrity was being ripped asunder. But his expression, by long practice, remained shamelessly calm.
“Know this,” Jian Li said, his voice dropping to a low, firm register, “I shall call in this debt, in full measure, one day.”
“Such gratitude,” Xuan Fei murmured, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
The room reeked. A heavy perfume of night-blooming jasmine mingled with the cleaner, more subtle fragrance of a lady’s vanity, overlaid with the stale scent of rice wine. Jian Li, in truth, had only learned to discern such nuances of illicit revelry through his forced association with Lord Xuan Fei.
Rumours had long trailed Xuan Fei like a shadow, tales of his youthful escapades whispered behind cupped hands in the tea houses. He was said to have abandoned his innocence early, in the neglected wings of his ancestral estate. The very scandal spoke volumes.
Even in his youth, Xuan Fei had possessed an almost adult bearing. His features, bold and well-defined, gave him a brooding, sophisticated air that belied his true age. Most who encountered him for the first time mistook him for a man of seasoned years.
Upon entering courtly society, he had openly sought diversion in the clandestine pleasure houses and gambling dens whenever boredom struck. With ample coin and a clever network of contacts, he often acquired forged imperial permits to bypass restrictions, presenting them with a casual disregard for law. He ensnared attractive courtesans, and casual liaisons became his favored pastime. His striking looks, an undeniable gift from the heavens, often served as a shield for his hedonistic pursuits.
Individually, his eyes, nose, and mouth possessed no singular, breathtaking beauty. Yet, when combined, they formed an inexplicably captivating countenance. His entire presence exuded such a refined, dangerous aura that few believed him merely a young lord; most assumed him to be a man well into his prime, perhaps even a decade older than his true age.
Jian Li’s gaze swept the chamber, searching for nothing in particular, his movements almost reflexive. The oppressive atmosphere, thick with the lingering aftermath of Xuan Fei’s escapade, made him feel profoundly nauseous.
“Where is Lord Ru Jin?” Jian Li inquired, his voice tight.
“He departed with the last of the dawn mist.”
“...”
“That viper,” Xuan Fei scoffed, a dry laugh escaping him, “he plays a madman’s game, no matter how I observe him. A true jest.” He rested his chin on a hand, watching Jian Li with a half-smile. Jian Li merely frowned.
Lord Ru Jin. He was the second person Jian Li most loathed.
Their association began more formally in the past year, when Lord Ru Jin had joined Xuan Fei’s inner circle. As much as Jian Li despised the admission, their constant proximity elevated Ru Jin to the status of a trusted confidant. While Lord Xuan Fei commanded the most renown among the capital’s young nobility, Lord Ru Jin held a similar, formidable reputation within the military houses of the Northern District.
Yet, their paths rarely crossed. The few times Jian Li had glimpsed him were during the grand imperial assemblies, a rare forum shared by all factions.
Once, during such an assembly, a low whisper brushed Jian Li’s ear. “That is Lord Ru Jin,” a courtier murmured, nudging his shoulder.
Curious, Jian Li shifted, craning his neck to peer through the ranks of robed officials. Among the sea of black-haired courtiers, a tall, sharply built figure stood out, his bearing almost martial. Jian Li knew immediately it was he.
“His countenance speaks of a difficult temperament,” Jian Li remarked, perhaps a little too loudly.
A junior official nearby, one of Xuan Fei’s lesser attendants, chuckled. “Indeed, Master Jian. They say he is ruthlessly self-serving.”
Jian Li offered a tight smirk, but only a perfunctory nod. He couldn’t deny a strange understanding of why Ru Jin had risen to challenge Xuan Fei’s casual dominance. That understanding only sharpened Jian Li’s dislike, yet for some reason, he found his gaze continually drawn back.
A brilliant shadow – that was Jian Li’s first, unsettling impression of Lord Ru Jin.
By chance, their eyes met. It was peculiar, Jian Li thought, that Ru Jin had noticed his gaze amidst the throng of the imperial hall. His long, narrow eyes and thin pupils held a striking intensity. Reflexively, Jian Li flinched, as though struck by a stone.
‘What are you seeking?’ Ru Jin’s lips formed the silent question. Jian Li, though unnerved, feigned indifference, turning his head away. Then, loud enough for his nearby companion to hear, he uttered, “He carries the coldness of a serpent.”
After that initial encounter, Lord Ru Jin and Jian Li often found their eyes locking across the court. Yet, they always ignored one another. Whenever their gazes met, Ru Jin would be the first to lower his head, only to lift it moments later, searching for Jian Li’s eyes again. Nine times out of ten, he averted his gaze first, but Jian Li, on occasion, found himself following suit. He ceased counting after the eighteenth such instance.
—
By a curious twist of fate, Lord Xuan Fei and Jian Li were assigned to the same committee examining the Imperial Edicts for the upcoming season. While Jian Li felt a secret, guilty thrill at this continued proximity, a familiar, unwelcome presence materialized within the committee chamber. It was truly astonishing, and utterly infuriating. For the first time, Jian Li received a proper, close-up view of the face behind the infamous reputation: Lord Ru Jin.
It was Ru Jin who addressed Jian Li first, his voice sharp and precise.
“Master Jian. Would you care to join us for a midday repast?”
Damn him.
And just as every court observer had anticipated, the two of them became inseparable. Lord Xuan Fei, a man who relished the reflection of his own magnetic charm, found in Ru Jin a worthy counterpoint. Ru Jin was masculine, successful among his peers, and held in high regard by his faction. Their alliance, both personal and political, felt inevitable.
In the court antechambers, the whispers often surfaced: if Xuan Fei and Ru Jin truly clashed, who would emerge victorious? From Jian Li’s perspective, a direct confrontation was unlikely. While Xuan Fei and Jian Li were surface opposites, Xuan Fei and Ru Jin shared a striking similarity in their ruthless ambition and disregard for convention.
Yet, one stark difference separated them.
Lord Ru Jin possessed a strange, almost puritanical streak. Despite his reputation for cunning, he sometimes displayed a rigid adherence to certain codes. For instance, when Xuan Fei felt the stirring of carnal desire, he would simply choose a desirable companion and spend the night. When questioned about his morning-after escapades, he would recount his steamy adventures with brazen pride. In contrast, Ru Jin would merely offer a dry, mocking laugh at the usual ribald remarks. Sometimes, he would even lampoon them, casually grabbing the arm of a particularly lecherous minister, squeezing hard enough to elicit a yelp.
“Are your urges so base, venerable elder? This arm is less alluring than the palace eunuchs. Seek solace there, if your desires are so crude. And truly, your countenance is a horror. Wear a mask, if you must parade such ugliness – it offends the eye.” Even his crude remarks were laced with an unnerving, intellectual sarcasm.
Yet, when the opportunity arose, Lord Ru Jin would sometimes utter baffling statements such as, “My true allegiance is reserved for the spirit of the Empire.” That was the chasm between them.
Xuan Fei once offered to procure him a particularly potent illicit elixir – a privilege he had never extended to Jian Li – but Ru Jin had dismissed it as a fool’s pleasure and refused.
Xuan Fei’s other confidantes found Ru Jin’s eccentricities entertaining, but Jian Li did not. The reason was simple: Ru Jin held a proximity to Xuan Fei that Jian Li resented. And they moved through the court like brothers in spirit. That alone was enough to fuel Jian Li’s quiet, simmering hatred. It was a jealousy he fought to suppress.
Still, Jian Li managed to maintain a civil, if cold, rapport with Lord Ru Jin. One of Jian Li’s most honed skills was the art of concealing his true sentiments, no matter the circumstance. Besides, Ru Jin was close to Xuan Fei. Indeed, everything in Jian Li’s precarious courtly existence seemed to revolve, unwillingly, around Lord Xuan Fei.
To be honest, there were more days when Jian Li felt a profound frustration with himself for this entangled reality than there were days he thought of Xuan Fei without resentment. He often felt like a complete fool, compromised and diminished. But even so, he remained trapped, unchanged.
While Xuan Fei tossed a few casual instructions at him before retreating behind a silk screen to prepare for his day, Jian Li sat lost in thought. A few minutes later, a soft knock resonated on the pavilion door. Xuan Fei, emerging freshly coiffed, picked up a crimson-tasseled scroll from the daybed and tossed it to Jian Li. Jian Li caught it, his fingers brushing the cool silk. The scroll bore the seal of the Censorate, and he heard the crisp, formal tones of Chief Censor Liu’s aide on the other side of the door.
Clearing his throat, Jian Li composed himself. Why was he even trying to sound so serene? He was a scholar, a man of truth, yet here he was, about to weave a deliberate falsehood.
“Yes, this is Master Jian speaking.”
“Master Jian? Are you in the esteemed company of Lord Xuan Fei this morning?” The aide’s voice was deferential, yet subtly probing.
“Indeed, I am.”
“Ah, I see. My apologies, Master Jian. Chief Censor Liu had a moment of concern, fearing Lord Xuan Fei might be… otherwise engaged. He spoke highly of your calming influence. Your voice is most reassuring, Master Jian.”
“My thanks,” Jian Li replied, his tone smooth, utterly devoid of the acid churning in his gut.
“No, truly. You are well, Master Jian?”
“I am well, I thank you. And the Chief Censor?”
“He fares likewise. You speak with such elegance, Master Jian. If only Lord Xuan Fei possessed even a fraction of your decorum. That young lord has, alas, no manners. So, you were, perhaps, discussing a matter of state?”
“Yes. Lord Xuan Fei, in his zeal, must have forgotten to inform the Chief Censor. He has been deeply engrossed in preparing his petitions for the autumn decree.”
“So, you have been engaged in this discussion the entire morning?”
“Indeed. He has been in my presence, without interruption, since the first crow of the rooster.”
“Well, that is a profound relief. If he is with you, Master Jian, the Chief Censor can rest easy.”
“It is nothing, truly, but a scholar’s duty.”
“No, Master Jian, it is significant. If he is with you, he cannot fall into further indiscretion.”
“Rest assured, I shall ensure his timely arrival at court for the morning assembly.”
“Excellent. Watch over him, Master Jian. May your scholarly alliance endure without discord.”
“Yes, of course. My regards to Chief Censor Liu. Farewell.”
Lies, elegantly crafted and effortlessly delivered, flowed from Jian Li’s lips like water from a spring.
After ending the brief, formal exchange through the door, Jian Li tossed the scroll back to Xuan Fei, who merely muttered a short, dismissive “My thanks,” as he adjusted his outer robes. Without another word, Jian Li turned to leave. Xuan Fei made no move to detain him.
“Until the court assembly,” was all Xuan Fei offered, his voice a soft murmur.
It was to be expected. This was the extent of their peculiar, dangerous arrangement. The vast, aching chasm between their natures, their duties, and their very souls was painfully clear. Perhaps that was why Jian Li quickened his pace, the silken robes now feeling like a heavy burden. On the path back to his own, ordered chambers, his throat ached, a dry, rasping burn, from the weight of his calculated deception.